Thus crowned with maiden majesty she peered into the night,
Looked up the hill and down the hill, to left hand and to right,
Flashing like fire-flies to and fro.
Waiting thus in weariness, she marked the nightingale,
Telling, if any one would heed, its old complaining tale.
Then lifted she her voice and sang, answering the bird:
Then lifted she her voice and sang, such notes were never heard.
From any bird when Spring’s in blow.
The king of all that country, coursing far, coursing near,
Curbed his amber-bitted steed, coursed amain to hear;